


Ho Ho Ho

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam Winchester, Chubby Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Santa Kink, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Weight Gain, Weight Kink, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22024819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sam should really learn never to get so drunk around Dean that he starts admitting to things that Dean can only use against him later.But, maybe just this once, it actually turns out okay.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 99
Collections: Supernatural Anon Kink Meme





	Ho Ho Ho

Sometimes, Sam really hates his brother.

He doesn’t even know how Dean managed it, but fuck him anyway, and Sam rips down the poster of a portly Santa wearing red fleece panties with a white fur lining that had somehow ended up pinned to the back of his door.

It doesn’t stop there, though; when Sam reaches into the glove box for a phone charger, he finds they have a new one with Santa’s head at one end sporting a huge grin, and tiny reindeer dancing their way along the cable.

Santa stickers (thankfully, easily peeled off) appear on their books in the archive; the toilet rolls all get switched out to ones with bare assed Santas wiggling their butts at him.

Even Cas isn’t immune to getting dragged into it and becoming an innocent pawn in Dean’s little game, delivering to Sam a hamper filled with various Christmas themed items that all have one thing in common, and telling Sam he hopes he enjoys it and is there a reason why Sam’s celebrating Christmas a whole month early.

Sam’s considering celebrating it by throttling his brother with a length of tinsel, ho fucking ho ho ho, but in the end he just knows Dean would die laughing so decides the best thing to do is just ignore it.

Anyway, it’s his own fault for getting shit faced and admitting to Dean that yes, there was something hot about Santa, the way his uniform just curved around his, well, curves, and as for the beard…

He vaguely remembers telling Dean it could double as something to hold on to so really he has no one else but himself to blame.

++

Christmas is less then two weeks away, but the hunts don’t let up, even with the three of them switching up combinations or taking on separate jobs to cover as much ground as possible.

Sam’s starting to think they might not even get a festive season if this keeps up, but it’s not that big of a deal.

He and Dean didn’t exactly get to celebrate Christmas at all growing up, whether because they were hunting, or Dad was gone, or there just wasn’t money. 

And even when they weren’t hunting, and Dad was with them, and they had a few extra bucks, John was never really in a festive mood.

December 25th usually came and went, unremarked upon, except when Dean managed to steal a toy or a book or pity-scrounge even a little extra festive food from somewhere so that Sam at least had something to celebrate.

So, even though these past few years they’d managed to have some kind of Christmas Day, it was always low key, two guys and an angel, exchanging a little gift, watching some TV and getting absolutely hammered (well, Cas indulged but was still the only sober person come midnight) before turning in.

As long as they were together, Sam didn’t mind, but as the jobs show no sign of tailing off as the days passed, he resigns himself to this year maybe not even having that.

++

But after he and Cas take out a vampire nest, and Cas heals him, and they come dragging their exhausted asses back home, Sam’s a little surprised that his phone hasn’t rung once.

Neither has Cas’s, and that makes Sam wonder if maybe they might get their Christmas after all.

The Impala is already parked up, and Cas guides his truck next to it, and then follows Sam downstairs.

Things are a little quiet, but it’s just after 11pm so Dean had probably turned in. He’s likely just as done in as they are, so Sam bids Cas goodnight, and heads along to his room.

When he opens the door, his jaw nearly hits the deck.

Dean’s standing there, side on, grinning, but all Sam can see is the _belly_ on him, huge, like Dean’s diet has been nothing but burgers and beer and the only exercise he gets is throwing his empties at the trash can, and he’s yelling before he knows it.

“Cas!” Because this...it’s a curse or it’s some kind of really dumb shapeshifter or it’s-

“Fuck, fuck, no,” Dean says, and then he’s nudging Sam aside, and slamming the door shut even as he hears footsteps come racing towards them.

The handle turns, and Dean has to push his weight against it and shout to the angel to stop getting swatted into the wall as Cas tries to get in.

“Cas, it’s okay, everything’s fine.”

The door stops grinding inwards, but it doesn’t close over either, and Sam can only watch as Dean’s skin turns a colour to match the pan-

Holy fucking shit.

Sam isn’t sure who his brain is only now registering two additional little tidbits of information but he’s going to let himself off.

One: Dean is nearly, completely, naked.

Two: The only articles of clothing preventing him from being bare as the day he was born are a pair of black DMs and an actual pair of red fleece panties with white fluffy trim.

He snaps back to while Dean is trying to persuade Cas that something isn’t dreadfully off in the room.

“If everything’s fine, then why can’t I come in?” Cas demands.

“Because everything’s fine,” Dean says, voice just one decibel below a yell.

“Then I can come in and check,” the angel insists. 

Dean’s muttering under his breath, and Sam just knows he’s about to say something he’ll only regret later. 

He moves around his brother to where there’s a tiny gap between the door and the jamb, Dean’s idea of compromise, and peeks through at Cas.

“Cas, really, everything’s fine. Dean was just goofing around and he startled me.”

He can see Cas isn’t completely convinced, but of both brothers, Sam knows he’s the one Cas would least expect to be teasing or pranking him somehow, so he steps away from the door.

“If you need me,” he says.

Sam nods. “I’ll let you know.”

Cas turns and walks away, and Sam steps back which allows Dean to close the door over.

He slumps against it, panting, and Sam has to bite his lip at the sudden fit of giggles working its way up from his tummy.

“What..What the hell...Dean, what did you do?”

Dean’s glaring at him. “What does it look like I did? I found a spell, you ungrateful little shit. Figured you were so into this Santa crap, I’d make it a surprise for you to come home to. Not sure why I bothered.”

He folds his arms, but they just end up resting on his paunch, and he looks so adorably grumpy that Sam has to fight back a grin that will surely get him cut off for life.

Instead he slips into Dean’s space, and gently tugs at his arms and guides Dean’s hands to his hips.

His brother doesn’t look mollified in the slightest, but it’s not the first time that Sam’s had to bring Dean round from a mope.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, and puts a gentle kiss on his lips, then moves to Dean’s jawline. He mouths his way along to Dean’s ear. “And you really, really look hot like this.”

He nips lightly at Dean’s ear, smirks a little at the way Dean’s breathing is heavy and so suddenly erratic, and then Dean’s grip tightens around him.

Sam barely has time to brace himself before Dean spins him around and presses his lips to the side of his neck, whispering into his skin.

“I think you’re a very naughty boy, Sammy. And you know what Santa does to naughty boys.”

Sam’s all the way hard just with the need to find out, and then Dean pushes him hard onto the bed.

He scrambles around, and braces himself as Dean crawls onto the mattress, stomach hanging there, grinning like he’s some kind of predator and he just caught himself a very juice morsel of prey.

Sam’s kind of feeling like that morsel, and it’s like an red hot itch under his skin.

“Strip for Santa,” Dean says, and yes, it’s absurd but he’s way too desperate for it to care now. He’s clumsy as he shrugs out of his shirt and jeans, cursing when they don’t co-operate (which makes him a very, _very_ naughty boy according to Santa Dean) but then finally he’s down to skin and Dean is positively leering at him.

He crawls up over Sam, and Sam sinks under him, nearly coming when Dean’s stomach rubs against him.

For a few minutes he can only lie there, panting, as Dean kisses and touches and strokes, mind swirling, and then he realises Dean’s moved back. He snaps his fingers, pulling Sam’s focus back and makes a _roll over_ gesture with his hand.

Sam’s clumsy, head fogged, body slow and heavy with lust, but he manages it and then Dean’s just pushing him into position, arranging him how he wants.

Flat on his stomach, legs spread, and Sam can imagine what he looks like, so hungry for it, for Dean.

He isn’t kept waiting too long. Dean slips two slick fingers inside him and the instant stretch is just over the border of discomfort but he bears it, almost relishes it because yes, he’s been a naughty boy and he’s ready to take his punishment.

But after that Dean takes it slow, and he puts a hand on Sam’s lower back to hold him in place when Sam whines and writhes to try and egg Dean on.

He must be too much of a pain at one point, because Dean slaps his ass hard, and then just goes still until Sam’s straining to look back at him.

“Dean,” he says, and Dean just grins.

“Dean?”

Oh, for…. “Santa. Please.”

“More like it. Maybe you’re not such a naughty boy after all.”

He adds another finger, goes back to slowly, determinedly getting Sam ready, and then Sam hears the slide of Dean’s panties as he shoves them down, grunting with the effort of staying balanced (it can’t be easy with that extra weight) as he gets them off.

Sam isn’t expecting him to throw the panties up towards him.

“Put those in your mouth. Santa doesn’t want you to disturb anybody.”

By anybody, he means Cas, and okay, that’s an idea because if he makes too much noise there is nothing Dean will say to stop Cas banging into the room ready to defend them, and, well…

There are just no words to explain what they’re doing right now, even if Cas knows they’re together. Sam might actual instantly perish from embarrassment.

And besides…. He crams as much of the panties in his mouth as he can, avoiding the fur, and the only thing that would make it better…

Dean must be reading his mind, because he gathers Sam’s wrists behind him, holds them tight against the small of his back, and then pushes in, slow, hard, stealing away Sam’s breath.

It’s so fucking good he almost whites out right then, but Dean holds until he settles and then his pace is punishing.

Sam bites down into the panties, but he’s sure they still aren’t muffling his cries, and suddenly he doesn’t care if Cas bursts in because all he can care about is Dean splitting him open.

When Dean leans forward, one hand braced by Sam’s shoulder for balance, it means his weight comes to rest on Sam’s back, that stomach just pressing down on him, and that’s it, that’s all it takes and he’s coming so hard, rocked into the mattress with every movement of Dean’s, soddening the blanket with so much come that he feels like he’s being storing it up for a year.

Dean keeps him pinned until he comes himself and then, panting hard, he lets Sam go, sits back and gently turns him over and tugs the panties out of his mouth.

“Sam?”

Sam nods, eyes shut, reaches out blindly for his brother’s hand. He’s pretty much offline, smothered by bliss, and it might be a few minutes before Dean can reasonably expect anything sensible out of him.

There’s a strange whispering sound, and that makes him open his eyes, and Dean’s…

Well, he’s not Santa anymore. The stomach’s gone, Dean back to his almost flat tummy, and Sam keens a little. He doesn’t know the practicalities or safety of using that spell again, or even on a semi regular basis, but he’s going to find out.

Dean’s stretching out beside him when Sam mutters, “Boots.”

He grins at his brother’s muttered curse, that Sam had no objections to them being on when he was getting fucked. But Dean sits up long enough to untie the laces and kick them off before lying down beside him.

“Didn’t think you’d come apart the way you did,” he says. “You weren’t kidding about the Santa kink, huh.”

Sam lazily draws his fingers over Dean’s tummy. He’s starting to think that maybe it’s not so much Santa, as those extra inches around the waistline, and if that’s the case, and Dean doesn’t mind….

Maybe, they won’t need a spell after all.


End file.
